Notes of Revelation
by Haleine Delail
Summary: Continuing from "Tracks of Emptiness." Martha's mother is worried for her daughter, and all she wants are answers! Will she get them, or will she have to snoop about forever? Another silly musical oneshot!


**This story is #4 in a silly series of oneshots that I've worked on over the past couple years, having to do with Martha, the Doctor and revelations through music. **

**I usually recommend that you read the others, but if you don't feel like it, let me bring you up to speed:**

_**In **__**Theatre of Nightmares**__**, Ramechac, an alien who specialises in nightmares, drags Martha through a "virtual" world where she is forced to perform in Broadway musicals, always as the unfortunate heroine who sings songs of unrequited love. The Doctor is also present in these scenarios, though usually oblivous.**_

_**In **__**Jukebox of Regret**__**, Ramechac's sibling forces the Doctor into a similar virtual world of 1980's pop culture, in which songs from the female artists of the time help him to realise that he truly loves Martha, and should never have let her walk away from him.**_

_**In **__**Tracks of Emptiness**_**,**_** another of Ramechac's siblings steals the Doctor and Martha's voices, just as the Doctor is about to confess his feelings for her. In order to communicate, they resort to using poignant songs which express their feelings of love, fear, uncertainty and lust. In the end, they consummate their relationship, which breaks the "spell" of silence. The story ends as they lay in afterglow in the Jones family's basement, knowing that they will have to be careful not to let her parents hear…**_

**And thus, this time, Martha's family is thrown into the mix!**

**Credit, as always, where credit is due: thanks to songwriters Ewan McColl, Cynthia Weil, Michael Masser, Tom Snow, Phil Galdston, Wendy Waldman, Jon Lind, Kerry Livgren, Diane Warren and Guy Roche.**

* * *

If today were a normal day, he'd be off to work. But given the year he and his family had had, it was more important that he concentrate on being a husband and a father, rather than corporate vice-president.

Exhaustion plagued his bones, his mind, every fibre of his being. He would have liked to sleep in, but he'd risen every day for the past fourteen years at precisely the same time, barring sickness or hangovers. He had attempted half-heartedly to go back to sleep before succumbing to ritual and finally making his way downstairs.

He looked in a cupboard and saw that the coffee filters were no longer kept where he remembered. Although, after eighteen months away from his home and his wife, he didn't find it surprising, truthfully. It didn't take him long to locate them, as well as the coffee grounds and the scoop. He poured water into the reservoir and hit the "brew" button as the clock on the wall registered 5:02. He stood still in the kitchen, and waited for the black nectar of the gods to be ready.

He savoured the silence for a few moments. But after a minute, he did hear a click.

It had been a year and a half since he'd lived here, but the music made by a house was unmistakable and forever imprinted upon one's memory. It was the basement doorknob, clearly, but who the hell was in the basement?

He walked with interest to the doorway of the kitchen and looked to his left, just as a tall man emerged from the dark, through the offending door. The man's hair was even more dishevelled than usual, and he was not wearing his usual brown pin-striped suit and trainers. Rather, he donned a set of pyjamas, into which he had climbed, obviously quite hastily.

"Mr. Jones," the man whispered in surprise.

"Doctor?" Clive whispered back.

He heard the soft groan of his daughter, as she stepped out from behind her friend. "Oh, God."

"S'pose you're wondering what I'm doing here," the Time Lord said, standing deathly still with an amusing nervousness written all over his face.

Clive looked at Martha, who had her arms folded over her chest. She was wearing a pair of light blue satin pyjamas, shorts with a camisole. She was avoiding eye-contact with both of them, and he could see she was attempting to cover herself. Her father had seen her in this ensemble before, and she had never seemed self-conscious in it. He smirked.

"At five a.m. with your shirt misbuttoned and my daughter in her pyjamas? No, Doctor, I'm not wondering at all."

"Of course you're not," Martha commented, uneasily. Her heart was pounding like mad.

"No way. Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?" her father asked her. His tone was light.

"Very sorry, sir," the Doctor muttered.

The Doctor was what… nine hundred years old? Clive had seen him reduce a global despot to tears and literally turn back time. The man was a titan, and yet taken by surprise in the matters of the flesh, he had been reduced to adolescent mumbling and foot-shuffling.

Clive chuckled. "No need. Martha's not a child, and God knows you're not. You're a nice bloke, and after this past year, I reckon you've both earned it."

The Doctor and Martha looked at each other. They both shrugged.

Martha asked, sceptically, "You have no… _choice words_ for us?"

"Like what? That you chould do better than him?" he asked her. He gestured to the Doctor. "How?"

Martha chuckled a bit herself. "Okay, fair enough."

"Although, I suppose if I were to say anything choice, I'd ask you to please find your own flat, or your own spaceship, if you're going to be hosting. But I'm not saying that, am I? Besides, you know you'll get an earful from your mother, so someone in this house has to keep a level head."

"Wow," Martha said, blinking hard.

Clive looked at the Doctor and said matter-of-factly, "Ordinarily I'd give you the third degree and possibly have my company do a background check on you, but I already know, with perfect clarity, who you are. You've proven that we can trust you with our lives, so who is anyone to object if Martha wants to trust you with her heart?"

"Thanks."

"Just tell me you love her."

"Oh, I do."

"Good. Coffee?"

"Er, no thanks."

"Well then, you'd better get out of here before Francine catches you."

"Right."

Martha ushered the Doctor quickly out the front, then turned and slumped with her back against the door. Clive emerged from the kitchen a few seconds later with two mugs.

He reached out and handed one to her. "You know, you'll have to tell her eventually."

She groaned in protest. "I know." She took a sip. "Do you have anything stronger?"

"That's Colombian. How much stronger do you want it?"

"Well, whiskey's pretty strong."

* * *

One week later, the entire main floor was a mess, and Francine couldn't abide a mess for too long. She intended to plough through the debris, then give the whole house a good dusting and vaccuuming. Paper plates, cups and cardboard were strewn everywhere, as the whole clan had been round last night for a long-awaited family dinner, complete with pizza, sodas, movies and Boston Cream Pie.

Everyone except for Martha. She hadn't been around in the evening at all, over the past week. Interestingly, Clive had subtly and slyly told her to leave Martha alone when she'd asked about it…

Francine had always found that she did housework best to music. She wandered over to the entertainment unit, and found, to her dismay, that all of the CD's were gone.

"Oh, that's right," she sighed. She had given them, along with her laptop, to Tish, who had promised to 'rip' them all onto iTunes and sync up Francine's new iPod, which she currently had no idea how to use. She momentarily considered bringing her turn-table and vinyl records up from the basement, but she dismissed the idea, being a fairly serious and avid collector of classic albums, and not wanting to risk damaging any of her recordings or equipment.

She took a quick glance around, and saw a CD lying on the coffee table. It hadn't been there last night, and she didn't know what it was, but it was the only bit of music that was immediately handy, so she popped it in the player.

She began to tidy the room as the CD wound up. Only as she started picking up pizza remnants from the coffee table did she notice that the CD had been lying on top of a hand-written note. She did not recognise the penmanship, but she noted the rounded beauty of the script, and it made her curious. Before she could stop herself, she ran her eyes over the writing.

"Dear Martha," it said. "Because music was such a big part of what brought us together, I felt that this would be a fitting first gift, from me to you. These are songs that have a definite meaning for me, and hopefully, now for us. Love you." The note was not signed.

Francine felt a momentary bit of guilt, but it went away quickly. After all, hadn't Martha left this out on the table? Whether she'd meant to or not, the fact was that the note was in a common area of the house, where it was bound to be seen.

And it made Francine smile. Martha needed this – someone to take her mind whimsically away from the past year. Normally, she wouldn't fancy a distraction like this for her daughter, so close to the end of her studies, but circumstances were not normal. It made her happy that Martha was involved with someone thoughtful and romantic, someone who would think to do this for her as a meaningful token of his affection.

She smiled even wider as she heard the first few notes of the track numner one playing, the somewhat uneven guitar riff that Francine had always loved, and felt was incredibly beautiful and visceral. It was one of her favourite artists: Roberta Flack, in one of the most beautifully-rendered love songs ever.

_The first time ever I saw your face_

_I thought the sun rose in your eyes_

_And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave_

_To the dark and the endless skies, my love_

"The first time ever I saw your face," Francine mused as she worked. The young man had written that this was meaningful to him, and she wondered exactly _when_ was the first time he had ever seen Martha's face. Who was he, exactly?

_And the first time ever I kissed your mouth_

_I felt the Earth move in my hand_

_Like the trembling heart of a captive bird_

_That was there at my command, my love_

She sighed, and wondered if this part had meaning as well, and when they had first kissed.

Then she stood up straight and stared at the stereo, as she gave, for the first time since Martha was in secondary school, thought to a certain aspect of her daughter's life. _Meaning_, he had written, and Francine knew what part of the song came next.

_And the first time ever I lay with you_

_I felt your heart so close to mine_

_And I knew our joy would fill the Earth_

_And last 'til the end of time, my love_

"Well, now," she said aloud. "I _really_ have no idea when that happened." She gave an annoyed grunt, realising that she probably never would know. She didn't know why she needed to know, but… well. With a sigh, she switched off the music and finished cleaning in an oddly melancholy silence.

* * *

A new day brought new perspective. Roberta Flack's song was stuck in Francine's head, and she thought about how she had last heard it – and it made her smile once more. She realised that it was just a song after all, and more importantly, she did not need to know all of the details of her daughter's love life. She tried just to content herself in knowing that Martha was getting into something with someone who seemed to think of, and care for her.

As usual, Clive was already sitting at the kitchen table when she came downstairs. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat with him, and set about continuing the business of reconciliation. They made small talk about some local current events, until Francine couldn't take it anymore.

"Clive, what do you know about this young man that Martha's seeing?" she blurted.

He looked up from the paper at her and blinked several times. "Not much. Why do you ask?"

"But you know _something_."

"Er, not really."

"Come on, honey, I know you do," she begged. "Do you at least know his name?"

"Francine, I really don't," he insisted. "I know there's someone, let's just leave it at that."

She was silent for a few moments, then asked, "How can you be so blasé?"

Just then, the front door opened, and Martha walked through it, looking haggard in clothes that Francine distinctly remember seeing her wear the day before.

"Morning," she said to them.

Francine glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Well, good morning. What sort of time do you call this?"

"I call it eight a.m.," Martha answered squarely. "Is there coffee?"

"Of course, sweetheart," her father answered.

Francine stood and followed her daughter behind the kitchen island to the coffee pot. "Are you just now getting in?" Her tone was inquisitive, but not inquisitorial, which, Martha noted, was something to feel positive about.

"You know I am," Martha answered with a weary smile. "Why do you bother asking?"

"Well," Francine said, putting her hands on her hips. "Where have you been all night?"

Martha sighed. "You know the answer to that as well, I'd imagine." She sipped as though the coffee held all the answers of the universe.

Francine cleared her throat and crossed her arms, and leaned on the counter. "I have a vague idea, but I'd like to know more."

"Mum…"

"Does he live around here?"

"He… has a place to live, very near here, yes."

Martha looked over her mother's shoulder and saw her father looking at them, baring his teeth as though wincing in pain.

Francine felt she was about to burst. "Who is he, Martha?"

"I'm not ready to discuss it yet, all right?"

"Why not? He seems very nice!"

"What? What do you mean _he seems_? What do you know?"

Francine felt heat slide up her face and burn her. She had slipped. "Oh, sweetie, I have a confession. I saw the note from him on the coffee table yesterday when I was cleaning."

Martha's face fell. "Oh. I guess I left it there."

"Yes," Francine said. "And since Tish has all my CD's right now, I listened to part of the disc he gave you, while I was cleaning."

"Well, I guess I'm the one who forgot to put the bloody thing away," Martha shrugged.

"I put it on the credenza for you. I'm sorry Martha, it's just… it's such a romantic gift for the beginnings of a relationship!"

"Yes, it is. But it is _my_ relationship, mum, and I will disclose the details as I see fit. Now please excuse me; I have to shower, and then I have a meeting with one of the med school deans."

With that, Martha disappeared up the stairs, and in a few minutes, they heard the water running. Within the hour, she had bolted out the door once more.

* * *

After Clive had left, Francine went and looked at the credenza. Martha had neglected to pick up the CD and the note.

"She said it herself," Francine whispered to no-one. "She's the one who left the bloody thing out. Besides – one more couldn't hurt."

She reasoned that there wasn't much _specific_ that she could learn from music that the young man had chosen, in spite of how she felt about the Roberta Flack song.

She popped in the CD and listened to track 2.

An ethereal tinkling of notes from a synthesizer filled the house, complemented by a man's voice humming along. From the sound of it, it was a song that had been released in the mid-1980's, but Francine did not recognise it – this was not 'her' era, at least not for music.

_Walking so easy, all the loving you gave me_

_The feelings we've shared_

_And I still can remember how you touched me so tender_

_It told me you cared_

Simple-minded and maudlin, she thought. Maybe this song wasn't the one that was going to reveal all.

_We had a once-in-a-lifetime_

_But I just couldn't see until it was gone_

_A second once-in-a-lifetime_

_May be too much to ask, but I swear from now on_

_If ever you're in my arms again_

_This time, I'll love you much better_

_If ever you're in my arms again_

_This time, I'll hold you forever_

_This time will never end_

Ah, now she was getting somewhere! The young man was someone to whom Martha had given some kind of a second chance, after walking away. He was now confessing that he'd been a fool not to see what he had, when she was there. This probably meant that she, Francine, _knew_ the man in question!

She missed the middle verse, and then seemed to tune in once again…

_We had a once-in-a-lifetime_

_But I just didn't know it until my life fell apart_

_A second once-in-a-lifetime_

_Isn't too much to ask 'cause I swear from the heart_

_If ever you're in my arms again…_

Well, she had to admit to herself that this song didn't seem promising. Apart from having given her another piece of the puzzle, she wasn't keen on men who made promises. "I'll do better this time," was a song and dance that rarely ended well, in her experience.

But she couldn't talk to Martha about it, she absolutely could not let her know that she had listened to another song…

"What are you doing?"

Francine's head snapped round. She had been standing in front of the entertainment unit, listening to the music, lost in thought, and had utterly failed to notice that it was almost noon, and that it was about the time Martha said she'd be back.

"I was just…"

"Mum!" Martha shot at her mother, her voice betraying disappointment more than anger. "Really."

"I'm sorry, honey," Francine scrambled, as she switched off the song. She pressed the _eject_ key, and took the CD from the tray. "Here, take it. Take it away – it's your private item, take it back to your room."

Martha frowned. "Why bother? If you're going to be like this, then I can't trust that you won't find it in my room. You might as well just listen to the rest of it. Blimey."

Martha disgustedly trudged to the stairs and began to climb.

Francine felt horrible.

* * *

Francine could remember a time when she looked forward to week-ends, but today was Saturday, and she just wasn't feeling very week-endy. Martha hadn't really spoken to her in a couple of days, other than the occasional cordial hello, and Francine couldn't really blame her.

She attempted to raise her spirits by re-engaging in an old hobby: sewing. She parked herself in a spare bedroom and pulled out her sewing machine, picking up a pattern she had left behind five years earlier. What the hell – it couldn't hurt.

She had noticed when she'd come upstairs that Martha was home, sitting in her room at her laptop. It was a good sign that she was leaving her door open, rather than shutting herself inside, the way she did when she was a teen, and angry at her mum. Francine spent an hour sewing, hearing music coming from Martha's room, and she found that fact reassuring.

She stopped the machine for a few seconds to detangle the bobbin slot underneath the needle, and Martha's song caught her ear. Again, it was not a song from 'her' era, but the woman's voice was smoky and classic, not unlike that of the great Roberta Flack. She actually stood up and got closer to the door, in order to hear.

_Sometimes the snow comes down in June_

_Sometimes the sun goes round the moon_

_I see the passion in your eyes_

_Sometimes it's all a big surprise_

'_Cause there was a time when all I did was wish_

_You'd tell me this was love_

_It's not the way I hoped or how I planned_

_But somehow it's enough_

_But now we're standing face-to-face_

_Isn't this world a crazy place?_

_Just when I thought our chance had passed_

_You go and save the best for last_

She lost track of the song for a moment, as she wondered whether going in now to talk to Martha would alert her daughter to the fact that she'd been listening, and that she was wondering whether the song was intended for the man she was seeing but wouldn't discuss.

Once again, she seemed to come to, as the middle of the song faded into…

_How could you give your love to someone else_

_And share your dreams with me?_

_Sometimes the very thing you're looking for_

_Is the one thing you can't see!_

Against her will, Francine put further pieces of the puzzle together in her head. She knew from the young man's number-two track that he was someone who had lost his chance with Martha somehow, and she'd given him another. Now, if the conclusion to which she had jumped was correct, and this was a song that Martha was going to put on a disc for him, she knew that he was someone that Martha had wanted and chased, even through a time when he was smitten with someone else.

Francine went down the hall and stood in the doorway to Martha's bedroom. "Hi, honey," she said. "What are you up to?"

Martha sighed, annoyed. "Well, you'll probably find out anyway… I'm making a CD for _him_, like the one he made for me."

Francine smiled softly. "That's nice."

"Yeah."

Her mother looked over her shoulder at her computer screen. "Oh, is this iTunes?"

"Yep."

"I just got that… well, before the election and all," Francine told her. "Tish was going to show me how to use it. So you can use it to make CD's?"

"Yes," Martha said. "This is a play list, and you can burn from it."

"And this is the play list you're using for your young man?"

Martha nodded.

Francine was careful to let Martha see her look away quickly, so that she wouldn't think that her mother was reading the play list, and again, prying into her private life.

However, she had seen one song title that she recognised: _Dust In the Wind_, by Kansas.

"Well, have fun, sweetheart."

* * *

Francine continued to sew, but something was eating at her. That song, _Dust In the Wind._ It seemed an unlikely choice for a woman to dedicate to a man she cared for. It wasn't the usual lovey-dovey fodder, and in fact, if Francine remembered correctly, the song wasn't about relationships at all.

At around seven that evening, as expected, Martha left for the evening, and Francine knew she wouldn't see her again until morning. Through dinner and the television movie, she still couldn't get her mind off _Dust In the Wind_, and she just wasn't sure why. The thing was, this song _was_ from 'her' era, and she was fairly certain she had the album on vinyl in the basement.

When Clive announced he was turning in for the night, Francine promised to join him in ten minutes or so, saying that there was something she needed to take care of. She slipped down to the basement and turned on the dim lamp, and began to search through her collection. At last she found it: cover art showing a blue orb with the hand of Death inside, the album _Point of Know Return._ She cued the needle to the appropriate song and listened.

_I close my eyes only for a moment_

_And the moment's gone_

_All my dreams pass before my eyes_

_In curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_

_All they are is dust in the wind_

_Same old song, just a drop of water_

_In an endless sea_

_All we do crumbles to the ground_

_Though we refuse to see_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind_

_Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever_

_But the Earth and sky_

_It slips away, and all your won't_

_Another minute buy_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind_

_Everything is dust in the wind_

She felt a surge of panic, and that night, she barely slept. As soon as six-thirty hit, she was on the phone with Tish.

* * *

"Thanks for meeting me," Francine said to Tish as she slid into a café chair. "Let me pay for your cappuccino."

Tish frowned. "It's fine, it's already done. Mum, what's this about?"

"Do you know the song _Dust In the Wind?_"

"By Kansas?" she asked. "Yeah. What about it?"

"What would you say it's about?"

Tish thought about it for a moment. "I'd say it's about mortality. The ephemeral quality of this existence."

"Exactly," Francine said with some finality, and then proceeded to relate the story of Martha's mysterious boyfriend and the CD's they'd made for each other, including the Kansas hit.

Tish was nonplussed, and did not see the significance. "Okay – so?"

"So?" Francine practically shouted. "Why would she put a song like that – a song about mortality, fleeting existence – on a CD to her boyfriend? Why would she be so hush-hush about everything?"

"What, do you think she's dying?"

"You know what I think? I think maybe she was exposed to some kind of radiation while she was walking around the world, and it's killing her, and she just doesn't want us to know."

"That's ridiculous. Mum, why do you always assume the worst?"

"Ask me that question again when you have your own children, little miss," Francine shot back.

"Mum, it's a nice song – maybe she just likes it."

"But all the others are about relationships, and reveal something about the actual nature of _their _relationship."

"Do you know that for sure?" Tish asked. "Did she tell you that? Because it seems to me that you've just been snooping about, and jumping to your own conclusions."

"Tish, really. Think about it."

"Okay. There could be other reasons for it."

"Like what?"

"Like…" Tish said. She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her fingers on the edge of her saucer. "Like, maybe she's dating a guy who's into extreme sports, and she's trying to get him to stop."

"What?"

"He could be, like, a guy who goes base-jumping on the week-ends, and she wants him to think about the fragility of life."

"I'm not convinced," her mother growled.

"Maybe she's trying to get him to quit smoking."

"Maybe."

"Maybe he's the one who's dying. Maybe it's a message about spending as much time together as they possibly can. Maybe it's a medical thing. Maybe… I don't know, maybe the guy is a lot older than she is and…"

"What? What was that?"

"Maybe he's a lot older than she is."

"And?"

"And… and she's realising that he won't be around forever. That the rest of his life is shorter than hers."

"Oh, Tish," Francine whined, her eyes filling with tears.

"Mum, this is so silly. Why are you crying when we really don't know anything about this?" Tish asked. "God, I can't believe you got me to come here _for this._"

"What if it's not that the rest of his life is shorter than hers," Francine said, tears streaking her face. "What if it's the other way round?"

"How do you mean?"

Francine stared at Tish for a few long moments, looking like she was going to say more. Then, suddenly, she said, "I have to go!" and she stood and headed for the door. "I'll phone you later, okay?" she called as the door was closing.

* * *

"Martha, Martha, Martha!" Francine scolded all the way home, talking to the air. "I'd better be wrong. You better not be doing what I think you're doing!"

She had a hunch now, after talking things out with Tish. She knew the man was someone Martha had loved, and who had shunted her aside, whom she had left, and then given another chance. Fleeting existence – dust in the wind…

"You're in such trouble, young lady!"

With the worry in her heart, she now did not care whether she was invading her daughter's privacy or not, and now just hoped that the CD was still on top of the player where she had left it.

It was. She put it in the machine once more, eager to confirm her suspicion. She pushed through tracks three through twelve, recognising most of the songs as romantic standards from the 1940's, 50's, 60's and 70's. All the while, she whispered, "Hope I'm wrong, hope I'm wrong… please let me be wrong."

And then track thirteen came up – the final song, presumably more meaningful than the tracks in the middle. A dynamic electric guitar riff came through the speakers, speaking to her from the late 1980's. She recognised it immediately. Anyone who had been breathing in the summer of 1989 knew this song.

"Oh no," she groaned. "No, no, no!"

_If I could turn back time_

_If I could find a way_

_I'd take back those words that hurt you_

_And you'd stay_

"No, no, no!" she protested. "If you could turn back time? Really? Oh, God!"

_I don't know why I did the things I did_

_I don't know why I said the things I said_

_Pride's like a knife, it can carve deep inside_

_Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes_

_I didn't really mean to hurt you_

_I didn't want to see you go_

_I know I made you cry_

_But baby_

_If I could turn back time_

_If I could find a way_

_I'd take back those words that hurt you_

_And you'd stay_

"Oh, you… what are you up to?" she asked the walls. "What do you want from her now? Haven't you done enough damage? Turning back time, indeed!"

_If I could reach the stars_

_I'd give them all to you_

_And you'd love me_

_Love me like you used to do_

"Reach the stars," she muttered. "Hunh!" She was vaguely aware of how petty she was being, and how ungrateful her fears made her seem, but… she couldn't help it. The past year had been hell and it wouldn't have happened without him. Good deeds or not, he had turned their lives inside out, and if Martha were smart, she'd run screaming from that existence. She needed stability. She needed normality. She needed to finish medical school, for God's sake, and get on with her life as a doctor, as her own person, as…

And she thought back over the song collection, and how the first one had made her feel. She had been uncomfortable with the prospect that whoever he was, Martha had slept with him already. Now that she knew who he was…

"Oh, Martha!"

_My world was shattered, I was torn apart_

_Like someone took a knife and drove it deep in my heart_

_You walked out that door, I swore that I didn't care_

_But I lost everything darling, then and there_

_Too strong to tell you I was sorry_

_Too proud to tell you I was wrong_

_I know that I was blind_

_And darling, if I could turn back time…_

"Agh! I can't listen to this anymore!"

Francine practically stumbled forward and killed the power on the stereo.

"Having a catharsis, are we?" a voice asked from behind her.

Once again, she was caught. She turned slowly around and found her daughter standing there, hands on her hips, looking hurt and disappointed.

But this time, she was not alone. Her mysterious 'young' man was standing next to her.

Francine had no idea what to say to either of them that would be any kind of meaningful. So she gathered herself and stood up straight, and she said, "Hello, Doctor."

He smirked. "Hi."

"So, we decided to tell you today," Martha said, monumentally irritated. "So much for that."

Francine sighed. "I suppose if I'm keen to keep you on this planet, I'm not doing a very good job, am I?"

"No, you're doing a terrible job!" Martha shouted. "Why is that?"

"I'm terrified for you, Martha," she confessed. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but… I can't help how I feel."

"Neither can I," he told her.

Martha took his arm affectionately, and there hung in the air an uncomfortable silence

"Well…" the Doctor began. "Maybe if you knew a little more about me."

"I already know too much – that's the problem," Francine answered miserably.

"No, like the facts," he said. "Mundane stuff. For instance, I brush my teeth in an anti-clockwise circular motion. My favourite fruit is Jooalooper berries, which do not grow on this planet, and my least-favourite are pears. I fancy the films of François Truffaut. I wear boxers, not briefs."

At that, Francine smiled reluctantly, and put up her hand, "That's quite enough information, thank you."

"Come on, ask me anything. Fire at will."

"Oh," she groaned, wiping her brow dramatically. "I'd better put the kettle on."


End file.
